The Return of the Prodigal (22 page)

And there he stopped.

Because, through the slowly clearing blue haze of smoke, he could see Lisette, being held tightly against the man Rian could only think of as Edmund Beales. The two of them were covered in dust as they stood in the middle of what was once a fine room. She had her head twisted away from the man, and Rian could see the tip of a very sharp knife pressing into the side of her throat. Damn! Why was she here? Why wasn’t where she was supposed to be, just this one time?

“A valiant effort, Mr. Becket,” Edmund Beales said, blood dripping from a deep cut over his left eye. “But one, alas, doomed to failure. Although I do applaud your originality.”

“Shut up, Beales.” Rian knew his luck had just run out. “Lisette. Are you all right?”

“Go away, Rian Becket. Leave here while you can. He won’t hurt me. Not yet.”

“Ah, but I will. An actress hired later, in London, or an actress put in place sooner, in New Orleans. The more trouble you give me, Lisette, the easier the choice. Becket? That nasty sword you so audaciously point at me? Drop it, if you please, and then kick it toward me.”

Keep him talking, keep him talking,
Rian told himself, doing his best not to look into Lisette’s fear-wide eyes, refusing to acknowledge the dust and dirt on her gown, the livid bruise on her cheek. “I believe, Beales, we’re at an impasse. You kill her, and all that stands between you and death is that very pretty stiletto. No match for my sword. Or, trust me, my youth and expertise.”

Beales laughed, and Lisette flinched, for the knife tip had drawn blood. “You? You’re forgetting something, aren’t you?
Cripple.
”

“This cripple, Beales, has just killed six of your men and blown your front door to flinders. Oh, wait, not six. Eight. Thibaud still lives, and sings like a canary. My father will listen to his every note. I don’t need you alive. Not anymore.”
Keep him talking. Give Jasper time.

Finally, Rian had the satisfaction of seeing Beales flinch, although he covered it well, turning it into a smirk. “Your
father.
And who might that person be, hmm? One of Geoff’s crew, I’d suppose. You’re too pretty to be Jacko’s brat, not that any but a pox-ridden whore would have him.”

“You don’t know? You really don’t know?”

“Geoff? I couldn’t have hoped to be so lucky.” Now Beales paled, although his skin was already unnaturally white, as if the man never saw the sun. “The traitor lives? You’re truly one of his wharf brats? My, my, this is above all my hopes when I began my search. I truly must find something pretty for Loringa, to reward her for her genius.”

Rian was close to exhaustion. The French blade, not all that terribly heavy, was pulling at the muscles of his arm, muscles that screamed as he fought to keep it steady, pointed in Beales’s direction. “We’ll talk later, if you don’t mind. It seems you’re not as smart as you believe yourself.”

“No, no, we’ll talk now. And yes, wharf rat, I am as smart as I believe myself. Much smarter than you. So, not just the remnants. Geoff himself still lives. Where?” He took the knife away from Lisette’s throat, pressed it against her breast.
“Where!”

Lisette bit her bottom lip, which began to bleed. Rian felt a whole new rage envelop him and took a full step forward before he could stop himself. “Let her go, and I’ll tell you. Hurt her, and you’ll go to hell now, even if I go there with you.”

“Rian, no,” Lisette pleaded, “just turn and go. I…I’ll always know that you tried. You can’t tell him about your father. The sins are all here with us, not with your family. Please, Rian. I’m not worth this.”

“Oh, please, don’t turn my stomach by playing the martyr. Not my child, sad disappointment that you already are to me. Don’t compound your failings,” Beales said, backing up a step, to keep Rian at his distance. “But, yes, Mr. Becket, I should have known, shouldn’t I? Closer to Geoff than merely the son of one of his crew. A favored son, hmm? And I must admit, you’ve done rather well. Complicated my life, if only for a little while.”

“And I must admit,” Rian said, his heart singing in relief, “I had help. Jasper, what kept you, my friend?”

Beales smiled. “Tsk, tsk. Such a juvenile ruse. Geoff would be disappointed.”

“Sorry, sir. Took longer than Jasper thought, breakin’ a neck, breakin’ down the kitchen door. Should Jasper shoot this one for you now, Lieutenant?”

Beales wheeled about, dragging Lisette with him, keeping her in front of him as a shield, and Jasper smiled at him.
Waved
to him, Lord bless the man.

“One more time, Beales. Let Lisette go,” Rian ordered, a heartbeat before his eyes went wide as he felt the unmistakable shape of a pistol muzzle push hard into his spine.

“Ah, Mr. Becket. It would appear that you are not the only one who has
help.
Thank you, Loringa. But don’t shoot, please, not quite yet. Mr. Becket? I believe that now we’re at a bit more than an impasse, wouldn’t you say? Your man shoots me, Loringa shoots you, and the two women are left to settle matters between themselves. Although I must point out, as you would be well-advised to remain very still, Loringa seems to be holding
two
pistols. Which, if I’m correct, and I believe I am, tips the scales in my favor. Loringa? If I fall, kill them both.”

“As you say,” Loringa said, pushing the pistol harder into Rian’s back. He held on to the sword, realizing there was little he could do with it, and looked to Jasper, who wore a puzzled expression that would have been comical if the situation were not so serious.

“Ah, I see your frustration, Mr. Becket,” Beales purred. “Allow me to assist you, being the older, more reasonable head in the room. I don’t want or need this miserable excuse for a daughter. Have your giant take her away, and good riddance. You, however, remain. We have
so
much to talk about, don’t we?”

Rian didn’t hesitate. Once Lisette was safely out of the room, he would turn the sword, fall on it and that would be that. Lisette, safe and away from here—that would be enough for him. He would not live to be tortured, to betray his family. “Jasper,” he said quietly, “Take Lisette, and go.”

“Rian, no! Don’t believe him. He lies. He lies, and then he kills.”

“Lisette, we’re not discussing this. Jasper will keep you safe,” he told her without looking at her. God, how he wanted to hold her, just one more time. “Beales? You agree to her safe passage?”

“As I get the better end of the bargain, of course. It’s always a pleasure doing business with an honorable man. Because I always win.”

He dropped his hands—both the right, which he’d been using to keep Lisette braced against him, and the left, the one holding the stiletto. Smug. Sure of his victory.

Rian finally looked at Lisette, sure he was seeing her for the very last time, comforted only with the knowledge that Jasper now knew the directions to Becket Hall, and would be able to take both Lisette and the man, Thibaud, with him, alert everyone to Beales’s plans to come to London.

But Lisette wasn’t moving toward Jasper, as she should. She was looking at Rian, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Silly, romantic fool,” she said, shaking her head. “You think dying is so honorable!” And then, to his immense surprise and shock, she had a scissors in her hand and was swinging her arm, swinging from her heels, plunging the points of the scissors into her father’s chest.

The woman standing behind Rian screamed.

Beales staggered where he stood, looking down at the handles of the improvised weapon, before he pulled it from his chest, turning the thing on Lisette.

Lisette ran toward Jasper.

Rian dropped to his knees and turned with his arm fully extended, toppling—my God, it was Odette!—to the floor. He hesitated for a moment, shocked, before he realized it was not Odette, it was this woman Beales called Loringa. But by then it was too late, even that split second of hesitation had been too long. The woman fired, much too close to him to miss, and Rian felt a sharp pain just above his ear before he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.

The last thing he heard, thought he heard, was Jasper, howling like a Red Indian, the way Rian had yelled as they’d attacked Thibaud and his men.

L
ISETTE AWOKE
from her short slumber all at once, breaking free of the nightmare of seeing Rian turn, seeing Rian fall.

She looked down at him, his bandaged head in her lap, and wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or slap him.

He’d rescued her. He been very nearly killed.

He’d come back for her. He should have left her and gotten himself to safety.

He was a hero. He was a romantic fool, best suited to scribblings of heroic deeds, not taking his one-armed self into the thick of battle as if she was the damsel trapped in the evil baron’s castle and he was the white knight bent on saving her.

She adored him. She really did.

The caravan’s left wheel found another rut in the road, and Lisette held on to Rian’s upper body, to keep him from tumbling from her lap.

They’d been on the road for several hours, without pursuit. But Jasper had assured her there would be no pursuit, as there was no one left to pursue them. He and Rian had disposed of all of her father’s men, leaving only the one, Thibaud, who still snored at the very back of the caravan, tied up in more knotted ropes than seemed absolutely necessary to hold him still.

She knew she shouldn’t be so happy to know the men she had seen daily for almost a year were all dead, but she couldn’t bring herself to do more than say a cursory prayer for their doomed souls. And she had excluded Leon most completely from that prayer. She could only wish the man, Renard, had still been in residence, and was also dead. But one couldn’t have everything, she supposed.

Rian moaned, frowned, but didn’t open his eyes. He hadn’t opened his eyes at all in the hours since Loringa had shot him. But Jasper said that was a good thing, because, when he did wake, he would have a most horrible headache from the ball that had grazed the side of his head.

Loringa might be adept at mixing up dangerous potions and poisons, but, luckily, she was a very bad shot.

Lisette closed her eyes, thinking about those tense moments in the manor house. Smoke still swirling, the small fires growing larger as the drapes had caught fire. Rian, about to sacrifice himself for her. The scissors, the one she’d been unable to reach earlier, suddenly in her hand, even more suddenly sticking out of her father’s chest.

She’d felt the blades sink into him, a most sickening feeling, and had let go instantly, looking at the scissors as he pulled it out, believing herself to be caught up in some strange, impossible dream.

But then he’d turned on her, smiling in that mirthless way of his, holding the scissors as if to strike her, and she’d belatedly obeyed Rian and run to Jasper.

Rian had made his own move, knocking Loringa to the floor.

The shot, that terrible sound of the pistol discharging.

Jasper’s almost inhuman bellow…and the huge, fully lit chandelier, obviously loosened by the force of the explosion caused by the cannon shot, crashing to the floor just between Lisette and her father.

Lisette doubted she’d ever clearly remember what had happened after that. Just the feeling of being swept up off her feet and tossed over Jasper’s shoulder like a sack of meal, and then holding on tight to the leather straps on his back as he bent, scooped up Rian and carried both of them through the flames in the foyer, out into the night.

She did remember beating on Jasper’s back, ordering him to put her down so he could run faster. She remembered helping him tie the unconscious Rian over the saddle of one of the horses before the giant lifted her as if she were no heavier than a feather, plopping her down hard into the saddle behind Rian and handing her the reins.

“I can’t ride!” she’d yelled at Jasper, truly terrified.

“That’s all right, Miss Lisette. Jasper can’t, neither!” he’d yelled back at her as he pulled himself up into the saddle of the other horse…and they were off, bouncing down the road in the moonlight.

Lisette smiled now, thinking about that insane, jostling, bone-chattering ride back to the caravan. She would tell Rian about it when he was well again, remember each moment in as much detail as possible, and he would write it all down, change the horror into poetry, the ridiculous to the sublime.

Once they’d treated Rian’s wound as best they could and transferred Thibaud to the caravan, Lisette had stood with Jasper as he set the oxen in the traces, and asked him what he remembered of her father.

“Chandelier missed him,” Jasper said, tugging on Magog, urging the beast into the traces. “Almost. He was moanin’ when Jasper gave him a kick, so he’s not dead. Not ’ less’n he burned up.”

Lisette had turned, her arms wrapped tight around her waist, to look back at the way they’d come, a good two miles or more, to see the sky lightened by the huge blaze that was once the manor house, burning to the ground.

Did she hope her father and Loringa were still inside as the roof crashed down on their heads? Yes, she did.

Did she think they had escaped? Yes, she did.

Evil doesn’t die so easily.

The left wheel found yet another hole in the roadway, and this time Rian opened his eyes as Lisette held on to him.

He looked at her for a few moments, clearly not quite seeing her, and then every muscle in his body seemed to go tight. “Lisette—run!”

She pushed him back into her lap, as he was struggling to rise. “Hush, Rian, it’s all right. We’re safe. We’re all safe.”

He collapsed against her, raised his hand to his head. “What…what happened?”

“You were a hero, of course, you stupid man,” she told him, bending to kiss his fingers. “And now you will have a horrible headache, Jasper says, but you will live. We’re on our way to the coast, as fast as Gog and Magog will take us, and then you’ll be on your way to England.”

Rian closed his eyes. “Home. We’re going home. Damn well time, I suppose.”

“Yes, more than time you were going home,” Lisette said quietly, as he had lost consciousness once more.

R
IAN SAT CROSS
-
LEGGED
on the ground, nursing a cup of Jasper’s strong coffee as he watched Lisette spoon-feed Thibaud, whose hands were tied behind his back.

Three days they’d been on the road, Jasper taking one of the horses to go into small villages and bring back food for them, as they knew to keep the caravan out of sight as much as possible.

This morning they’d at last reach Dunkirk, where they would hire a ship to take them as far as Folkestone. His father’s man there, Roberts, would see to their transportation to Becket Hall. It would be faster to sail straight to Becket Hall, but it wouldn’t be prudent, not if Beales somehow located the ship’s captain and asked a few questions.

Explaining an ailing and unconscious Thibaud wouldn’t be a problem, as long as the laudanum held out, and Rian already planned to lay in a new supply in Dunkirk, on their way to the docks.

All that remained was convincing Lisette that she would be welcome at Becket Hall, welcomed by his family.

He looked at her as she wiped Thibaud’s dripping chin before getting to her feet and taking the bowl over to the stream, to wash it.

Rian got to his feet, followed her.

“You treat him well enough,” he said, sitting down once more, as the headache he’d had since first waking still had not become a memory, and too much movement caused his stomach to protest as well. “Was he good to you?”

“Thibaud?” Lisette shook her head. “He is a vile man. They were all vile men. But the nuns taught me that we are all God’s children.”

“Even Edmund Beales?”

Lisette scrubbed at the bowl even though it was now clean. “I think, perhaps, the nuns forgot to tell me that the Devil fathered children of his own. I don’t wish to speak of him, if that’s all right?”

“That was a very brave thing you did, Lisette,” Rian told her, touching her arm so that she’d stop scrubbing at the bowl. “The scissors.”

She turned to look at him, her beautiful, bruised face only inches from his. “You were going to let them take you, torture you, kill you. All so that I could live. What was I supposed to do, Rian Becket? Live the remainder of my life knowing a fool died for me?”

Rian smiled. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Oh! You’re impossible! You think like a poet, Rian Becket. You think that now we can all go to this Becket Hall of yours and everything will be fine, wonderful. For you, yes. Your family will welcome home their prodigal son, slay the fatted calf for him, and for Jasper as well. But what of me, Rian Becket? What of me, daughter to a monster?”

She tried to stand up, but he grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her down beside him once more. “And that’s it? That’s why you’ve been avoiding me these past days? Because you’re Edmund Beales’s daughter?”

“I am Nathaniel Beatty’s daughter. I am daughter to a man who probably murdered his first victims without compunction when he was little more than a child himself if we are to believe Thibaud, and he has gone on murdering without compunction for the past nearly forty years. He murdered his own wife, my own grandparents. He murdered this woman who was your adopted father’s wife. He murdered all those women and children you told me about. And more, many, many more. He kills for sport, Rian, and for his own advancement, his quest for money and power.”

“From what Thibaud told me, he also would have murdered you, once you’d served your purpose.”

She bit her bottom lip, still swollen from the blows she’d received, still crusted where it had split open. “Yes, he would have murdered me as well. Do you know how that makes me feel, Rian Becket? I was so ready to love him, and he took me in, fed me, clothed me, took me to Paris—always knowing that one day he might find it convenient to kill me. His own daughter, his own blood.”

Rian tried to put his arm around her, draw her close, but she pulled away from him, prickly, avoiding his touch. “Lisette, I’m so sorry.”

“No,
I
am sorry. I carry his blood, Rian. It runs through my veins, diseasing me. I…I want to see you safely aboard ship, heading for your home, but then I am going to return to the convent. I am not fit to live in the world, not Nathaniel Beatty’s daughter, the child of such evil. I wish he had left me there, believing myself an orphan. At least then I had my lovely illusions. Now I have the truth, and it’s a truth too terrible to bear.”

For a moment, only a moment, Rian didn’t know what to say. But then he opened his mouth, and what came out probably startled both of them. “I never thought you were stupid, Lisette, until now.”

Her head whipped around as she glared at him, the bruise on her cheek showing livid against her suddenly white skin. “What did you say to me?”

But, now that he’d said it, he was fairly content with his statement. “I said, I never thought you were—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth. “I heard what you said, Rian Becket. How dare you say such a thing to me?”

He took hold of her hand, kissed her fingertips. “I can say it because I know how wrong you are, Lisette. Who your father is, well, that’s who your father is, not who you are.”

“His blood is—”

“Now who is repeating herself? His blood is in your veins. I suppose so. But it is the nuns who raised you, made you who you are, not him. No matter how much you wanted to love him, as you said, you knew there was something wrong, something unnatural about the man, didn’t you?”

“Loringa—”

“Yes, a most shocking thing that was, seeing this Loringa. I’ll have many questions for Odette, once we’re back at Becket Hall. But, let us think about those two for a moment. Odette couldn’t be more different, yet you told me she and Loringa are twins. The same blood, Lisette, yet two very different women.”

“Twins. The two sides of the same coin. That’s different.”

Rian rolled his eyes. “Why are you so determined to consider yourself evil?” He slapped his knee, coming to a decision. “All right. I should let these things come out gradually, I suppose, over time, but let me tell you a bit more about my family.”

“Rian, it doesn’t matter about your—”

“Lisette, shut up.”

Her eyes went wide. “What? You tell me to—” She closed her mouth for a moment, nodded. “I will shut up. I will listen, because you’re still a wounded man. But you will apologize.”

“You’re the most impossible woman I’ve ever—All right. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry you keep saying stupid things and I keep interrupting you. All right?”

“You are so lucky you are wounded, Rian Becket.” She folded her arms over her chest and looked out across the small stream, avoiding his gaze.

“My sister Morgan, again, a child of Ainsley’s heart, as he calls us, and not of his blood, was born to a prostitute who sold her to Ainsley while threatening to drown her in a bucket like an unwanted kitten unless he paid her price.”

Lisette’s head whipped around once more, her mouth agape.

“Today, Morgan is the Countess Aylesford, and the mother of twins I haven’t seen in much too long. I would say she is respectable, except that she and Ethan would consider that an insult, but she is a good, good woman. I know she once thought she could be no better than her mother, but she was wrong, happily wrong.”

“I…I am very pleased for your sister.”

“You can tell her that when you meet her. And when you meet my brother Chance. God knows who his parents were because he doesn’t, as Ainsley found him working as a pickpocket in a wharf side pub. Today Chance has his own estate, lends time to the War Office, and is adored by his wife and children. And then there’s Courtland, good, solid Court. When Ainsley brought him home, I hear, his back was laid open from the mother of all beatings, and he didn’t even speak for a long time. Jacko told me Ainsley killed the man who had beaten him—Court’s father. And Elly, there’s another one. Her father comes close, I’d say, to your own. And Spence, he—Lisette! You’re crying.”

“You made me cry,” she said, scrubbing at her cheeks with the palms of her hand. “Now I’m ashamed. Thinking only of myself, when your family has suffered so terribly.”

“Not suffered, Lisette. Lived. We lived, we survived. We continue to survive. Sometimes, sweetheart, that’s all a person can do. I promise, it won’t always hurt this badly, knowing what your father has done. We’ll move slowly, you and I. We’ll go to Becket Hall and you’ll meet my family. And then, once you’re stronger, we’ll marry and—Lisette!”